


Under the Bright Lights

by advaevika (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drunkenness, Grinding, M/M, sorta fluffy but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/advaevika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's lost his glasses long ago, his dark green eyes are unfocused, he doesn't seem to care as he grinds up against you. He pulls your hands to his hips and hooks his own into his waistband. His v-neck t-shirt is slipping down his shoulders, exposing more of his lightly tanned skin and you know you're staring but you can't help yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Bright Lights

You've kissed him once before. You were both horribly drunk, and he'd pinned you against the wall, forcing his lips on yours. It was hot, wet and messy. You'd opened your mouth to say something, you couldn't remember what, but he'd seen it as an opportunity. Jake was all tongues, teeth and roaming hands. His mouth was lavishly soft, contrasting the ferocious kiss in a way that made you wonder if you hadn't drunk just a bit too much and were currently in the midst of a booze-fuelled dream. The slow drag of his teeth on your bottom teeth as he pulled away had snapped you back to reality. He laughed, the sound much throatier and deeper than you were used to, his hot breath ghosting over your shoulder

"That was fun." he whispered in your ear, chuckling again before he sauntered away, leaving you with your back flat against the wall, your breathing shallow, mind racing as you wondered what the fuck had just happened. Neither of you had mentioned it since. Honestly, you wondered if he even remembered, because you were pretty sure he'd spent the latter portion of that night collapsed on the floor of Roxy's room, vowing to never drink again. But here you both were.

You take a mouthful of your beer, leaning against Roxy's kitchen counter, eyes locked on the demon in front of you. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears above the deafening music, a chill running up your spine. Holy fuck. He's drunk again, you know, but the way he's moving his hips is stone-cold sober, precise, calculated. He and Jane grind up against each other, his hands at her waist, hers resting atop them. They're laughing, joking around, but if he could rub up against her any more sexually you're pretty sure your eyeballs would fall out. Roxy comes up behind them, slipping herself between them effortlessly, martini held high while her back brushes against Jake's chest, her ass in his crotch.

Roxy's head snaps back, laughter spilling from her lips, hi-fiving Jane for something you can't hear. She spots you and shouts your name, beckoning you over. You make your slow journey towards them, dodging past Roxy's other party-goers, finishing your beer on your way.

"'Sup, Rox?"

"Dance with us!" she squeals, grabbing your hand and pulling you in. Jane bursts into a fit of giggles as you spin Roxy around, dipping her low. She smirks and throws her arms around your neck, hugging you to her. Jake's still stood behind her, eyes half open, shimmying his hips in time with Roxy's. You catch his eye and he flashes you a smile.

"Having fun, Dirk?" he asks, voice still chipper despite his inebriated state. You give him a curt nod, the smallest ascension that yes, you are.

"Lalonde, you are one lucky girl." you smirk, "you've got the two sexiest motherfuckers at this party all up in your business." Roxy giggles, burying her head in your chest. "So, what are you gonna do with us?" the suggestive tone of your voice only makes her laugh harder.

"'m gonna get'chu another drink!" Roxy slurs, motioning to your empty bottle, distress on her face. She squirms her way out from between you and Jake, grabbing the beer from your grip and forcefully snatching Jane's hand as she goes, pulling her away from the boy she was talking to. You and Jake exchange confused looks, and while he laughs you raise one eyebrow, watching the pair questioningly. While your gaze is averted you feel arms come up around your neck, a warm head dropping on your shoulder.

"How's it goin', English?"

"Pretty good," he says, looking up from your shoulder, bright green eyes staring intently at your shaded face. "Dance with me, Dirk." the smile on his face is seductive, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. How the fuck could you say no.

His back connects with your chest, probably a little harder than he intended, alcohol affecting his balance, but you don't have long to dwell on it. He's copying Roxy's moves from earlier, grinding into your lap, your hands on him, subconsciously pulling him closer.

You can feel yourself getting a little hot under the collar as he pushes his sinfully perfect ass into you and you're reminded that Jake Engish is a demon, an incubus, determined to drag you to hell. His head lolls back, his lips slightly parted, wet with saliva. Somehow you can hear his soft, shallow breaths above the music and you can see the sheen of sweat on his brow. He's lost his glasses long ago, his dark green eyes are unfocused, he doesn't seem to care as he grinds up against you. He pulls your hands to his hips and hooks his own into his waistband. His v-neck t-shirt is slipping down his shoulders, exposing more of his lightly tanned skin and you know you're staring but you can't help yourself.

You maneuver your hips in time with his, never breaking contact. You move as one, stuck to each other. You're vaguely aware that you're holding him up now, your hands gripping his hips. He sways, uneasy on his feet, and you tighten your hold on him, fingers digging in to his soft, olive skin. He groans and fuck, you need to stop this soon or you're gonna hate yourself tomorrow.

"Jake." you whisper, dropping your head to his ear, trying to focus your thoughts while he desperately tries to scramble them.

"Mhm?"

"Jake, stop." He laughs in that deep, throaty tone that you've only heard once before and ignores your words, pushing himself closer, as if that were possible. Before you have time to step back he turns, hands on your ass, his crotch on yours and wait what. You can feel him through his stupid chino shorts, firm bulge pressing against your thigh. You return your hands to his hips and fuck feeling guilty, fuck the morning after. Jake is here, right now, thrusting his hips and making sounds you thought you'd only ever imagine.

He rests his head on your shoulder and you can feel his gasping, panting breaths. His hand snakes between you, fingers tracing the prominent shape in your jeans, cupping it. Your hips push you up into his grasp without your permission while you nudge his shirt up his torso, your short, blunt nails digging into his hips, his breath hot against your cheek when he exhales.

He looks up at you, soft, affectionate. It's a guise. There's lust in his dilated pupils and his panting lungs. You know what he's going to do before he does it, you recognise that sinful glare.

He crushes his lips against yours, moist, radiating heat. One of his hands goes to your hair, threading through the spikes, forcing you against him, preempting your reflexive step back. There's desperation in the way he holds you, clutching you to him. He opens his mouth and you can't deny him. You taste poisonous whiskey fumes before his tongue touches yours, and when it does it's shy, fleeting, but your small grunt spurs him on. Suddenly he's forceful, grinding against you, pulling you down, lips enclosing yours, teeth biting your lower lip, his mouth as hot at wet as before. You slip a hand down, his ass is firm beneath your palm and he moans his assent.

What the fuck are you doing.

You pull away, despite his grasping hands and heavy breath. His teeth graze your bottom lip, pulling on it, just like before. He looks sinful, the whiskey isn't the only poisonous thing in his mouth. You relinquish your hold on him and his hands drop away from you. You have to get out of here.

You turn, heading for the garden, open doors, fresh air, not looking back to see his expression. You keep going, the cold, harsh night air burning your lungs, returning the oxygen to your brain. Digging through your pockets, lighting a cigarette, eyes turned to the heavens. You can't keep doing this, you can't keep up with him. He's got a hold on you that no-one else has ever had, but for him you're just a plaything, and Jake never keeps his toys too long.

The drunken haze is dissipating, yet you can't stop thinking about it. Behind you the music is still painfully loud, thumping bass making your head spin. The brick of the wall cuts into your back, sharp pain slowly returning you to reality. There are others out here, giggling behind bushes, lying on the grass, split into two groups- the drunken friends and the lonely addicts satisfying their cravings. You'll never be satisfied. You'll always be alone. The thought is as bitter as the nicotine in your lungs, as curdling as the smoke in the air.

"Give me a drag."

The cigarette is plucked from between your fingers, you hear an inhale, then soft, shuddering exhale, then it's returned to you, placed back in the space that was left.

"Dirk," you can tell there is more coming, and you wait, but there's no continuance, just the two of you, standing in silence, taking it in turns to smoke, like teenagers in the playground. Before too long you're just holding the smoldering remains of your cigarette, heavy breathing resonating in your chest.

You drop the butt, looking down momentarily to grind it out with the sole of your shoe. A hand catches your jaw, tilting your head to make your eyes meet his gaze. Pushing up on tiptoe, lips brush your cheek, soft, fleeting, tracing across your skin, down to your mouth.

Jake English is an asshole. His understanding of other beings is minimal, his handling of situations catastrophic. You know this, but after his chaste kiss, bright green eyes swimming into focus, cold fingers threading themselves between yours, you think that maybe, maybe one day, he can learn. He can learn to discern your emotions, comprehend how you feel. In that moment, you don't care how this is going to turn out- you love him, and, though he doesn't know it yet, you're pretty sure he loves you too.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been debating posting this because of all the DirkJake stuff recently but eventually I decided to just bite the bullet and do it! Hope you like! Most of all, thank you for reading!


End file.
